Junior was sick to his stomach and vomited a few times on the long ride to New York.
There were two drivers who spelled each other.
They stopped at a few gas stations to use the toilet, get a drink, eat something, but Junior couldn’t eat.
He fell asleep in the car and woke up just before they reached the garage.
He was feeling weak. The drivers were not as rough on his as they usually were, because one of them knew a friend of his, Jibba.
Jibba was the kind of soft spoken unassuming blood thirsty murderer no one would cross.